


Through the Fade

by sharedwithyou



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Cute Cole (Dragon Age), F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27288184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharedwithyou/pseuds/sharedwithyou
Summary: When you fall asleep, you see him.
Relationships: Cole (Dragon Age)/You, Cole/Reader, Original Male Character/Reader
Comments: 60
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Teaser/chapter one
> 
> When you fall asleep, you see him.

Another long day, another rude customer, another take-out dinner for one.

You sink into the beat-up couch, avoiding that one spring which pops out sometimes, and press the button on the remote.

Nothing.

Ah you’ve got to be kidding me. You jump up to check the hallway lights, which you hadn’t even turned on because you just wanted to veg over Dean Winchester’s eyes.

They flicker, the crappy bulbs that management hasn’t gotten around to changing yet. But the lights work.

Of course you’d paid your power bill. You wanted that darling pair of heels instead, but you weren’t so desperate for retail therapy that you’d give up electricity.

You cross your fingers mentally that it’s just the remote battery. Since you’re already out of your lazy position, you walk over to turn the tv on the old fashioned way.

Zilch.

Well, there goes your only escape, since your phone is out of data and you threw the router out the window in a fit when you got fired from your last job. On the plus side, you were saving money by not using internet.

Luckily, you’re exhausted enough from a crappy day that you fall asleep as soon as your grumpy head hits the pillow.

“Hey, you.”

He turns and you smile, extending your hand. He acknowledges it, but doesn’t reach out.

“Still afraid to touch me?”

“No.”

“Don’t want to?”

“Yes.”

Rejection should hurt, and maybe in the morning it would; but even if it did it would hurt less than if he’d said outside of this dream. 

Right now you didn’t feel anything other than the humor of his blunt answers.

“Where are we off to, then?” It was always adventure, with this one. You’d be riding fantastical animals, or slaying ice-breathing dragons. You were fearless, and it thrilled you to the bone; you couldn’t die in this dream world. 

“Where do you want to go?”

You grinned, excited, delighted. “Anywhere.”

“Alright.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our adventure continues!!!
> 
> Let’s follow lovely thru her dreams

In minutes you’re carving a path through a horde of something, dark and ugly and definitely not human. You’re fast, the blade like an extension of your arm, nothing like the you that failed physical education in elementary school.

Still, he’s faster, sinking his blades left and right, flickering through your vision ahead of you.

He glances back at you, and you holler at him with pure adrenaline. “I’m catching up, homie!”

He doesn’t react beyond a small nod, then he’s invisible again. The only indication that’s he even exists, is the trail of bodies he leaves behind.

You sit up with a start. You were halfway up some tower when your shrill alarm rang. Rubbing your eyes, you feel the dread settle at the long day ahead. Double shift today; fan-bloody-tastic.

But there’s a saving grace; your new manager is on duty with you.

Tall, muscular, dreamy. When he smiles, you feel your heart race faster than Lightning McQueen.

Which is a strange comparison considering you want to jump his bones. 

Your manager. Not the cartoon car.

“Good morning, (y/n).”

His voice is deep and loud, and you fight the heat that wants to rush to your cheeks. “Good morning.”

“It’s buy one get one free, today. Brace yourself.”

“Hey, with you by my side we can take a thousand customers.”

You almost look away at the boldness of your statement. But hey with terrible pay and inflexible hours, your job should at least afford you a chance to flirt shamelessly. And it did.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, doll.”

For once, you’re not a melancholic mess when you get home. You actually turn the lights on, and make your own meal. Minute rice and frozen curry, but still. It’s a win.

Best of all, some frenzied customer knocked a TV off its display and the corner splintered. The manager had to damage it out per company policy, but the screen was intact so you took it home.

You were able to drift off to the sounds of hoodoo and voodoo.

“You’re happy.”

You look at the boy with the straw blonde hair and smile. “Of course! I love it here!”

He looks at you, his face emotionless. “Usually you come sad.”

You quirk a brow. He was as handsome as he was strange. “You want me to be sad?”

“No. But it’s different.”

“What can I say, change is liberating!” You stretch your arms and spin around in a circle, giddy.

“I see.”

“So partner, where are we off to?”

“Partner?”

“Yeah! Cmon I’ll even let you be Batman.”

“No.”

You pout, disappointed. But hey, you’re not here for banter and lip service.

Oooh. Lip. Service.

But this boy wouldn’t even let you touch his hand. Pretty sure that you won’t get to first base. You’re probably not even up to bat.

“Something the matter?”

You realize that you’ve been grinning creepily in silence. “Nope! Everything is dandy. Let’s go kill some baddies.”

“Ok.”

This time you trade your sword for a sturdy bow and arrow. Sure, you flunked archery at summer camp that one time, but now your aim was true and you couldn’t miss.

The swarm of beasts is picked off one by one as you stand in a tree, feeling like Legolas. If only you had long white hair and a fine set of pectorals. You watch the shadows disintegrate into black powder, and swing from the tree with a warrior cry. 

In real life you probably would have slipped off the vine and conked your head,but here you are nimble as a nymph. You land on your feet and dash through the remaining foes, to catch up to the flurry of knives in front of you.

“Hey, homie!” He glances back at you, as was his custom, and you do a flip in the air and send three arrows behind you to clear out the stragglers. “I got your back!”

He nods again, no hint of a smile, but it doesn’t bother you.

Maybe when you wake up you’ll wonder why your buddy was a cold, unfeeling person, but for now you’re just cruising on the high.

Still, even in dreamland, you can feel fatigue. You finish off the last of the horde and slow to a standstill to catch your breath. The boy senses that you’re tired somehow, and comes back to check on you.

“Hey you got something on your cheek.” You reach forward, but remember that he dislikes physical contact. Maybe just anything remotely resembling intimacy? Maybe something you’ve repressed, some type of rejection, is projecting this into your dreamland not-partner. But the trade for fantasy that puts any video game to shame, you’re more than happy to accept.

He touches his face and feels the blood between his fingers. He doesn’t react, but that doesn’t surprise you. Still, there’s no reason to leave it there. You rip off part of your sleeve and hand it to him. Wardrobe doesn’t really matter when you can’t see yourself being a badass. 

He shrugs and wipes at it, smearing red all over. But at least it’s even now. Kind of like war paint.

“You like being physical with people,” he observes.

“Huh?!”

“Touching my face. Holding my hand.”

You scoff. It’s your dream, you’re allowed to be horny right? Plus that’s freakin PG stuff at most. “Everyone likes that.”

“I don’t.”

You step back exaggeratedly. “Point made, homie. Your body, your rules.”

He tilts his head, curious. “What is homie?”

You try not to laugh. Your slang probably didn’t carry into this fantasy world. You’re not sure how your mind behaves in REM, what rules it makes for this land of wonder. But it doesn’t matter, you’ll take it. You love it.

“It means friend.”

“Friend,” he echoes without emotion, his signature style.

“At least let me be that,” you wheedle in what you hope is a cute voice.

“Alright.”

When a loud buzz wakes you, it’s half an hour before you actually have to be up. You forgot to silence your damn phone. Who the hell was texting you this early?!

You check the message and your annoyance evaporates.

-How’s the TV working out?-

You cringe. You’re not supposed to take the damaged items home. But what were you going to do, let it sit in the dumpster while you sat in silence staring at an empty screen?

-What TV?-

-I bet you look cute when you lie-

You were torn; cute blushing emoji or leave him on read? He was hot, but he could also get you fired.

You stared at the text for 2 solid minutes before it buzzed again.

-I won’t tell if you won’t-

If you won’t tell what? You wonder. You get your answer a second later.

It’s a picture of his abs. You zoom in like a perv for definition. Clean lines, contours you could cut a cake with, though really you’d rather lick frosting off it.

Well that’s one way to start a Wednesday. Hump day, amirite?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MUAHAHA CLIFFIE
> 
> Hope y’all enjoyed!! Leave me a comment if you liked!
> 
> Xoxo Bucky


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a bit complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter!!!! I’m so happy to be writing regularly! Enjoy, lovelies!
> 
> Xoxo Bucky

“Hey homie.”

“Hi.” Man of few words as usual, his greeting is short and, well, short. It would be short and sweet if it had any affection to it whatsoever.

But you had another man to satisfy that craving. You would not terrorize this boy.

“Ready to get going?”

“No.”

You cock your head. “Something the matter?” It’s your turn to ask.

“Do you have a partner? Outside of here?”

An odd question, but he wasn’t exactly normal. “My life outside is different. Boring.”

“Normal? Unlike this?”

It was like he was reading your mind, but that’s where you were right? Inside your head? So it doesn’t matter. Nothing here matters.

The thought sobers you, unfortunately.

“Normal is boring. It sucks.”

He nods, somehow satisfied with your answer.

“So should we discuss my depressing life more, or can we go kill demons?”

He frowns. The first distinct display of emotion he’s shown. Too bad it’s displeasure. “Demons?”

“The ghostly things. The ones we always fight.”

He seems to understand and beckons you towards him. “Let me take you somewhere.”

You walk towards him, and to your delight, he takes your hand. 

Your delight doesn’t last long, though, as the two of you appear in a tent that stinks of death. 

“Look around.”

There’s blood, but it’s not victorious on his face, it’s infected and oozing out of a soldier who’s trying not to cry. Must be leftover memories of that world war 2 documentary your teacher made your class watch when you were 10.

You want to reach out somehow, to comfort the anonymous man, but your fingers go through him, like you’re watching him on the LCD screen in your living room.

“This is what it’s like for me.”

It’s unlike him to speak so many words, but does it even count if it’s somber and timeless?

No, you decide. It’s your headcannon, and if you don’t get to choose your guide, you should at least get to choose where to go.

“It’s time to go, homie.”

He shakes his head solemnly.

“There’s nothing more we can do.”

He looks at you, and for once it’s not numb, but it’s unpleasant and you don’t like it. “You just want to have fun.”

You cross your arms, dropping his hand. “Everyone does.”

“But that’s not why I bring you here.”

“Is that right?” You ask testily.

“I bring you here to help.”

You recognize the innocence in his voice, the inability to understand or at least accept death. “So we kill demons. To keep them safe.”

His whole body tenses. “It’s not all demons. Sometimes it’s men. Or women. Evil exists in every being.”

You want to be annoyed with him, but you can’t help seeing that in his simplicity he’s pure and good.

“So we will deal with them one at a time, kid.”

His shoulders relax a little, and you reach for his hand to lead him away. But you remind yourself not to touch him. He notices your motion, and looks up at you. His blank face now full of sorrow.

“Do we have to go now?”

You sigh and take a seat on the dirt. Sure, why not spend your precious hours in Nirvana watching a dying man? But the look of gratitude on the boy’s face compels you not to hold a grudge against him. So you scoot over, making plenty of room for him, and sit in silence together.

“Do you think all demons are evil?”

“Don’t think too much, kid.”

You wake up feeling not one bit rested, which is unsurprising. At least your brain had turned the sound off the soldier’s groans of pain, but you were still sitting in gloom instead of slaying monsters for the entire night. Time for coffee. Double shot of espresso.

“Long night, (y/n)?”

You weren’t looking for conversation, but aside from the fact that ignoring your manager would be bad work ethic, one look at his eyes was enough to part the clouds over your head.

“Hi.” You were the one with few words now, watching him lug a box out of the carts and wedge it into an empty space on the shelves. 

It was below his pay grade, but he wasn’t too proud to roll up his sleeves and get his hands dirty.

Hands. Large, likely calloused, could easily wrap around yours. 

Dirty. Like how you felt staring at the photo he sent you, tempted to put it as your lock screen image because it was that yummy.

“Something the matter?” The familiar words pulled you out of your indecent musings.

“Uh, no. Didn’t sleep well.”

He laughs, a sound that rumbles against his chest, a very pronounced chest that even the crappy fabric of the company uniform can’t hide. “Boyfriend snores?”

You busy yourself changing price tags so you don’t have to look at him. “No boyfriend.”

“Oh.” His voice sounds unsure for a second, and if you’d sneaked a peek you would see his cheeks tinge pink.

But you finish pulling off last week’s sale stickers without looking up. You’re so busytrying not to look at him that you don’t notice he’s actually come to you.

All of a sudden he’s here, so here; his arms reaching above you to snag a sticker you’d missed, his stomach almost brushing against your lower back, his voice so low you barely hear him.

“I’m glad, doll.”

It takes all your self-control not to turn around and kiss him, tear off the shirt so you can see those abs under the fluorescent light. 

You return to your duties, working diligently so your thoughts don’t drift into his arms, or under his belt.

It’s late, you pulled a double again and this time the manager left after the first shift with a plain goodbye, as if he hadn’t all but dry humped you in the cereal aisle. You were left with the crabby associate manager, who bitched about his girlfriend the entire time, as if he was such a catch.

Normally you’d at least look forward to surfing the channels but you were plumb worn out. Not sure if it was the sexual tension or the 12 straight hours of work, but it is definitely bed time for you.

Except instead of looking forward to swinging a flaming sword you were anticipating something more along the lines of attending a wake.

But hey if your dream life was turning to trash too, might as well stay awake. Think about the man who was making you hot and sweaty.

Like your mind was being read, your phone buzzed.

-How was your second shift?-

Your response is immediate. 

-Dandy-

So is his.

-Did you miss me?-

The same predicament as yesterday. Blushing emoji or nothing?

You don’t have time to decide, as the next text comes.

-Cuz I missed you-

You get another picture. It’s his abs, but it’s a lower shot, so you can see a pretty evident bulge in his jeans.

Oh boy.

Now, as a rule, you do not accept dick pics. Not as a You-show-me-yours type of exchange. Not in lieu of a good night text. Not even with a picturesque sunset as a background.

But this was kind of a grey area. It was like a tease, which was way sexier than hey here’s my cock. Also, unless the lighting was misleading, the size was pretty impressive. Oh and let’s not forget those abs were so delicious.

You decide to let your body decide, which it does, easily. Your hands slip under your panties, and you would moan but crap you never got his name. Never checked the company-wide email, never looked at his name tag because every other part of him was way too distracting.

It didn’t really matter though because by the time you were almost there, you’d fallen asleep.

“Hi.”

You look around, wondering for a second where the blankets had gone and why your hands were hanging uselessly at your sides when they should be getting busy.

Damn.

“Hey, kid.”

He looked at you blankly as usual, but there was a hint of curiosity. “You’re mad.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not really.”

“You’re not happy to be here.”

You shrugged. “Well I guess it’s better than work, marginally.”

He continues looking at you, and it’s not so much cold as devoid of emotion.

Cold implies that lack of warmth, love and compassion and all the good things. And with it that implication, the presence of disdain and hatred and all the bad things.

He has none; maybe because he can’t feel any of it. Which wouldn’t be his fault. Annoying, but not his fault.

“Where are we going?”

He thinks for a moment, before speaking again. Not by answering your question, though. “Thank you for staying with me yesterday.”

You feel a rush of affection, and you want to give him a hug. At least pat his head. But you do neither.

“Sure, kid.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Kid?”

“Yeah, homie doesn’t feel right anymore. Too much like partner, you know?”

He doesn’t seem to understand, a look you’re getting used to. “But I’m not a child.”

You let out a medium sigh. Not small because it wasn’t insignificant. Not big, because it wasn’t of tantamount importance. But it was disappointment, all the same. “You are to me.”

It’s a typical group of enemies, demons or spirits, whatever you call them.

Your movements are slower; not exactly clumsy, but more prone to mistakes. You keep the pace behind him as you always do, sweeping away the leftovers with a crescent blade spear. Maybe you’re not good with heavier weapons, maybe these monsters are tougher.

You plow through most of them, but two on your left manage to get you good in the side. 

You loved it here because you felt godly, you were eternal, you couldn’t die in your dreams. 

Apparently you can feel pain though. You’d felt the chafe of the leather wrapped hilt in your hand, you’d felt the sting of recoil when you released the bow string. But you’d never actually gotten hurt.

“Shit!”

You double over, but manage to finish off the last two fuckers.

He turns at your shout and in a blink he’s next to you again.

You wave him away. “No biggie. Just a small flesh wound.”

“Let me see.”

You groan but move your hands. Wow it looks gross.

He furrows his brow, and you can’t help feeling another rush of affection. It’s so endearing when he’s concerned about you.

You try to think of the last time you felt like that; cared about. Maybe when you were living with your parents. You’d moved into the city for the high life. Instead you work a dead-end job where even if you can afford to go to the restaurants that Zagat raves about, you sure as hell don’t have the energy.

When he reaches towards it, though, you step back quickly.

“Don’t worry about it, kid.”

“I’m not a child. Blood doesn’t scare me. You know that.”

You laugh, but it feels empty. “But you don’t like being touched.”

He steps closer. “But you do.” 

Before he can close the gap between you, your phone buzzes and wakes you up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YALL KNOW I HAD TO ADD SOME MF SPICE AND ANGST
> 
> LEAVE ME A COMMENT IF YOU LIKE
> 
> If you’re having complicated feelings about the new manager, good ;)
> 
> Hope you lovelies are having a great weekend!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day (ish) I’m on a roll! 
> 
> Enjoy my lovelies

You’re glad to be out of there. It was hurting, and you tell yourself it was the huge gash, but that’s only half the truth.

It’s half an hour early again, you’d forgotten to silence your phone since you were, ahem, busy last night.

-Sorry if I made you uncomfortable-

You grin broadly. Now that’s more like it.

-You didn’t-

-I don’t want to make things awkward at work-

-I can think of something that will make us both comfortable-

You shove the phone under your pillow. You can’t believe you got wound up like that. That was the stupidest thing you’ve-

Another buzz. You pull the phone with one eye closed.

-Looking forward to it ;)-

Well holy shit.

One hour later, you’re at work, uncomfortable as usual but for a completely different reason.

“Isn’t that manager foxy?” Your coworker whispers noisily to you. You keep stacking pencils and make a noncommittal noise.

“His laugh is music, I swear. And the way his voice lowers when he says certain things. Like sale and call.”

“And doll,” you can’t help murmuring.

“Hmm? When did we have a sale on those?”

You shake your head, hiding your pleasure. So that pet name was just for you. Sweet.

“(Y/n)?” Speak of the devil. I mean for that voice anyone would follow him to hell and back.

“Yes?”

“Can you help me sort some files in my office?”

“Alright.” Your coworker makes a fake crying face, but you’re pretty sure she actually is jealous. Which is fair, you’d be jealous too, if you weren’t following that fine ass into a room with a door that locks.

“Hello, doll.”

That addictive voice again. He closes the door behind you and you look at your feet; you’re too scared to look at his face, afraid you’ll see those lips and bite down on them, practically rip them off his face.

“Look at me.” It’s not a command, but if it was you’d be powerless to do anything besides obey. His voice is gentle, though, as he puts his hand under your chin and tilts your face up.

You shakily raise your eyes and almost lose yourself in the expanse of blue and green and hazel. Like the colors are constantly changing, different between each blink.

“Your eyes are beautiful.”

You think it, but they’re his words, as he presses his nose against yours, and inhales deeply, like your scent is a drug and he needs it in his veins. You pull at the buttons on his shirt, but the freakin uniform has them sewed on tight. “They don’t open like that, doll.”

You whine and he smirks, moving his hands to hold yours, keeping you from taking anything off of either him or you.

“You liked what you saw, didn’t you?”

You don’t answer and instead keep trying to move your hands, but he holds them tight, keeping even his lips from yours.

“Do you even know my name?”

You finally manage to open your mouth to whisper the words. “Does it matter?”

And those must be the three magic words. Because as soon as you say them, he lets your hands go so he can put his around your waist and lift you up against the wall.

You hold him tightly between your thighs, and grab both sides of his face so you can get a better angle to completely shove your tongue down his throat.

It’s a moment of pure electricity, pressed together, your mouths practically fused into one organ, his hands squeezing your waist, your legs squeezing right back.

There’s a loud knock at the door.

“Uhm, (y/n), there’s a phone call for you.”

You pull away and try to speak, but your voice has floated away.

He doesn’t seem to have fared any better, as he’s trying his hardest not to pant.

“(Y/n)?”

“Coming,” you manage to say in a relatively normal voice. But your legs disagree, they cling to him, so he slides you slowly down. You feel him rubbing against you as he lets you down carefully, and wish death or at least moderate inconvenience on whoever dared call you at the worst time in the history of existence.

Which turns out to be some prank caller, just static and silence. Your coworker swears that some mystery man asked for you by name, but she must have been jealous that you got alone time with the fox.

And of course he gets a call from the boss right after, pulling him to another branch in another city. He’s gonna be there the rest of the week, and as he says goodbye to all the staff, you see his eyes linger on you, the need rising to the surface for a moment. But he can’t call you doll, not in front of everyone and he certainly can’t kiss you, even though you both want it so bad.

“There goes the eye candy,” your coworker whispers forlornly, but you know you’re infinitely more devastated than her.

It’s not even 9 but you’re in bed and tossing and turning. The drive would take him all night, so you had no one to play with. Except yourself, but after being that close to him, with him, you didn’t want to finish without him.

Especially after the last text he’d sent you from the car.

-Wait for me. Please-

Just remembering made your hands creep down your panties again, but you resisted. TV was a poor distraction, because Dean’s eyes and Sam’s abs were a shadow of what you’d seen and felt up close.

In the end, you manage to drift off, with the desire still burning between your legs.

“Hey, you.”

You smile at the boy, enjoying his two words instead of one.

“Hey yourself.”

“You’re not mad today.”

“Not mad. Just impatient.”

“About what?” His look of curiosity is wholesome, and you don’t want to taint it with your lust.

“Nothing important, kid.”

“I’m not a child.” He’s repeating himself, but it’s not reproachful. You’re starting to see him for what he is. Unaffected by the tumult of the world, he is genuine, white when the rest of the world is grey or black.

“Alright, homie. Let’s go kick some evil butt.”

The joy is back as you manifest a weapon of your own, from whatever energies have created this dream. It is a whip, perhaps a sign of your budding sexuality, otherwise inspired by creativity as you down a monster with two of its own.

“Look who’s better with a whip!” You crow proudly as you do a few twirls feeling this weapon a part of you more than the others have been.

Maybe the boy sees it too, because you see what looks like a twitch at the corners of his mouth. Maybe it’s the sun in your eyes, though. Because it’s suddenly there, radiating beauty as it almost engulfs him in its rays, like he’s a Phoenix rising from ashes of his enemies.

“Wow.”

“Hmm?” The inquisitive look is on his face, the one you’re growing so fond of.

“Tell me, homie.

Are you an angel?”

He looks away, and you suppose you’ve ruined the moment, because he walks away, pointing to some shadows far down the road.

But you don’t regret it, because in that moment you were dumbstruck, suspended in euphoria, looking at someone as magnificent as a sunrise, that if you hadn’t spoken and seen his reaction, you’d never have believed he was real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I saw Cole in a sunset I might spontaneously combust
> 
> Thanks for reading, lovelies
> 
> Xoxo Bucky


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SHIT GETS REALLY REALL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INTENSE. THIS IS.
> 
> Leave a comment if you like!
> 
> Xoxo Bucky

When you wake up, though, the dreams are just that. Dreams. Effervescent, fleeting, and perhaps just like a sunrise, beautiful to look at but gone in a blink.

Still, the present pales in comparison, and looking at the photo that you totally didn’t set as your background wasn’t as intoxicating.

Neither was the -wyd- typical fuckboy text you received.

You decide not to answer, because how do you even respond to three letters? Idk? Idc? 

It’s your day off, and like a maniac, all you want to do is sleep.

Sure, you’ve been overworked and probably have a sleep debt of a few weeks’ worth, but you know that isn’t why.

You’re not craving rest, you’re craving life. Passion, like let’s save the world. Not like hey lets fuck. Pride, like look who can take out 4 dudes with 1 arrow. Not like look who finished this week’s inventory ahead of schedule.

You hadn’t known how unsatisfied you were, and now being awake sucks even more than it did before. And being asleep is just confusing.

What do you do when what’s real is shit, and you can’t get enough of what’s not?

Your phone buzzes again. 

-I miss you-

There we go. At least put some effort in.

-How much-

-As much as a baby kangaroo misses its pouch-

You feel goosebumps and bite your lip. Damn him for being smooth. And very visual.

You feel your fingers trembling, and unsteadily tap out a response.

Then you turn your ringer off and go do the dishes.

What’s the saying. Busy hands, busy heart? Tidy house, tidy mind?

Well, your place is now immaculate while your brain is in the gutter.

You’ve finally folded the clothes in the “clean laundry” bag. Even though it’s much quicker to dig something out than fold everything, in your humble opinion.

You’ve swept the kitchen, the living room, and even the dust bunnies under your bed. Not that anyone else would see it. For now.

You’ve washed and yes even hand-dried the dishes, instead of lining them up in the dishwasher to self-dry.

You had nothing else to distract you from checking your phone.

The first thing you see a missed call from the sexy manager. That was literally his contact ID- Sexy Manager. Then you see the chat history.

Your last condemning text.

-Are you saying you want to be inside me-

His reply.

-Badly-

Well fuck.

Your hands are shaking, but you clear your throat a few times. You haven’t spoken to anyone all day, having never left the apartment, but you want your voice to sound perfectly normal. You’d used your last nerve sending that risky text so you couldn’t even try a sultry voice.

He picks up in one ring.

“(Y/n).” No hello. Just your name, in that guttural voice that makes the goosebumps spread.

“Hi.” Again, you have less words than the blonde boy, because you’re so overwhelmed by all the parts of you that are unfulfilled.

“I wanted to hear your voice.”

You breathe deeply, like you can feel his stubble on your cheek as you smell his aftershave. And the clean smell of fresh grass. Huh, the gardeners must have beenhere today. In your cleaning frenzy you hadn’t noticed.

You forget to respond.

“(Y/n)?” You feel the voice travel down your ear down your chest, until it finds its way into your stomach. And it doesn’t settle there, it vibrates softly. You need to sit down.

“I’m here.”

“I want you so much.” The words are torture, because he’s not here, in your bedand between your legs where he should be.

You let out the same whine you had when his buttons had nearly been the death of you.

You hear his breath hitch and you love it, it’s as close to the high from your dreams you can get.

“Let me hear you moan, doll.”

The feeling in your stomach, the vibrating, gets stronger and travels down between your legs. You want to say yes, but you want more. You want him inside you and it’s killing you.

“Say please.”

“Please.” It’s a pant and a gasp and his voice shakes and you wonder how close to the edge he is.

You open your mouth, about to let out the dirtiest sound in the history of this earth, when you hear a woman’s voice in the background. Muffled, but you hear the words dinner and hon.

“I have to go.” His voice is husky, but there’s an edge to it that wasn’t there before.

“K.” Is all you say. And you hang up.

“You’re mad.”

So we don’t even get a Hey today, huh. Whatever.

“Very mad.”

You stay silent, because let’s see how he likes talking to the air.

“I don’t like it.”

What, like you’re a bundle of joy all the time? Weren’t you the one who made me go watch a man die? You have all these words and more, but you don’t want to use them on a boy.

“Hey, homie.”

They’re your words, of course they sound different coming from him. Not to mention they’re a different timeline, a different world, a different plane of existence. 

Maybe it’s the absurdity of it all, maybe it’s that same look of concern, that even in sleep, someone cares about you. You can’t help it. You smile.

He can’t help it either. You watch his lips twitch, as it makes its way shakily to where it’s never been.

When he smiles, it’s like sunshine.

“Homie, I really think you might be an angel.”

You sleep through your alarm. You also sleep through two texts and a voicemail.

-Hey-

-R U Ok-

The voicemail is slightly better.

“Hey, it’s me. Sorry about last night. Promised I’d take a board member to dinner. She’s like my mom. Don’t be mad, I’ll make it up to you.”

So you’re twenty minutes late to work, but your manager said he’d make it up, whatever “it” is, so you figure at least he won’t dock your pay.

“(Y/n). You’re late.”

No shit, Sherlock. The manager is the first one you see through the door. You don’t have the energy to be bitchy or cute, so you just mumble an apology and hurry to clock in.

Your coworker whispers excitedly that the Fox is back. You shrug and get started re-stocking. Guess it’s back to boring, normal (y/n).

“Hey.”

You don’t bother looking up from the soups you’re placing logo-face-front. “Hi.”

“Look at me.” Again, it’s gentle, and try as you might you can’t keep your chin down.

Once more, you’re lost in the hypnotic swirl of colors in his eyes.

“I missed you.”

You want to look away, to forget about it, to be over him, but he looks so good, you feel the ache all over until you can barely stand. 

You drop a can on your foot. “Motherf-“

The rest of the curse is muffled by his lips as he lifts you by the waist again and kisses you, not too rough, just enough to make you want him more.

He carries you into his office, which is conveniently right behind you.

“You ok, doll?”

“No biggie.” You ignore the urge to say just a flesh wound, in case he’s not a Monty Python fan.

“Let me see.” His words startle you; they seem familiar. He takes your reaction as shyness. He sets you down on the table and takes your shoe off.

“It’s fine.” For god’s sake you weren’t even wearing matching socks today!

“Looks like you got a bruise on the piggy that went to the market.”

You’re so thankful he doesn’t comment on the one pink one green sock thing that you don’t notice until-

“Eep!”

You can’t help the yelp that escapes your lips as he slowly sucks on the bruised toe.

He laughs, a low rumbly thing that makes your toes curl. And of course he sees, because your freakin foot is two centimeters from his face. “You like this?”

You can’t even say yes, because you lose your ability to speak when he puts your toe back into his mouth. His tongue is slowly running over where the soup for the family knicked you.

“Want to know my name yet?”

You shake your head, because it feels too good, too much, too fast. It’s taking all your willpower not to flex your foot and accidentally break his nose legally blonde style.

“Come here.” He pulls you by your ankle until you’re at the edge of the desk and he’s standing between your legs.

“Moan for me.”

You shake your head firmly again. There’s a whole store beyond that door full of customers and possible snitches and there’s no way at this level of hormones that you can do so at a reasonable volume.

“Please.”

And that’s your magic word, it sounds so delicious and you watch it practically pour from his lips.

It builds up from inside you and fights its way to your lips.

“(Y/n)?” 

Are you fucking serious right now?!

You can tell he’s getting annoyed too, because he narrows his eyes at the door.

“(Y/n)? Someone’s on the phone asking for you. Same person as last week, I think.”

“Well, who is it?” The mood is gone and now you’re just scowling.

“I don’t know.”

“Then how do you know it’s the same person?!”

“The voice sounds the same.”

“It was a prank call last time!” You hop off the desk, ready to go tell her off or maybe punch her in the throat, depending on what face she makes when you walk out.

But he grabs your hand and pulls you back and mouths the word stay.

You’re dragged by the current of your combined desire back into his arms.

He claims your lips with his, and you put your hands around the back of his neck so you can hang onto him like a monkey.

“(Y/n)?”

You pull away and grit your teeth and bore holes into the door with your glare. “What.”

“What should I do?”

“Take a message with a callback number.”

“Oh. Ok. Hey, have you seen the manager?”

You look at him and he makes a throat slicing motion. You try very hard not to giggle. “No, I haven’t.”

“That’s too bad. He’s so good-looking, really perks the store up.”

“Uh-huh.”

“When you’re done in there, you should finish stocking the soups. Some old lady just ran her cart into a stack of them.

“...dandy.”

You hear her footsteps finally retreat and grouchily stalk towards the door.

“So I’m good-looking, huh?” He has a cocky smirk and it’s almost infuriating how much it suits him.

“Some say,” you remind him.

“Do you?”

“I have to stock soup.” Your hand makes it to the doorknob before you find yourself in his lap again.

“Moan for me.”

“No.” You’re stubborn and manage to haul yourself to the door, his hands never leaving your waist.

You’re almost there, in more ways than one, but as you ease the door slightly open it slams shut with the weight of him grinding against you.

You open your mouth to ask him to stop but you don’t want him to, it feels so good, something you haven’t felt in a long time when you’re awake.

He slips his hands to your stomach, holding you close while he presses you against the door with his whole body.

You feel him pulsing between your legs and it’s taking everything out of you just to keep quiet. You don’t want to hold it in anymore.

“Moan for me.”

His voice is like the snake whispering in Eve’s ear, you know it’s wrong but it’s so fine, it’s coiled around your leg ready to sink it’s fangs into you and you crave the venom.

“Please.”

You feel your entire soul begging for release and the only option at this juncture in time is from your lungs. You inhale with him and it’s so close, it’s crawling up your chest.

“(Y/n)? It’s the same person again.”

You actually kick the door. You feel his silent laugh against your shoulder blades and it quells your anger.

“Coming.” He snickers at the double entendre, but backs up and finally lets you out. Of course when you pick up it’s the dial tone because fuck Carol or Cheryl or whatever her name is.

When the manager calls a staff meeting to remind everyone not to use the office number for personal calls she gives you a victorious sneer but you’re busy staring at his abs, and he sees. When everyone leaves you do too, but you look back over your shoulder at him and he bares his teeth at you; you think of all the places you wish he’d nip at. It’s not a short list.

This time the board member meets him at the entrance, and he was telling the truth; she’s old enough to be his mom. She doesn’t French him she kisses him on the cheek and leaves a lipstick mark; it’s cute how embarrassed he gets.

She introduces herself and shakes everyone’s hand; her skin feels papery but it’s warm as is her smile. She mentions the theatre tickets he gave her as a birthday present. It’s a series of concerts, new performances every few days. They always run so late, she can barely stay awake, but the musicians are incredibly talented. Today’s is some famous opera. You don’t get the name, you’re distracted by the look of pure longing on your manager’s face. You won’t be up long enough to tease him over the phone. 

“Hey homie.”

No greeting from him this time, but you’re used to it.

“You’re happy.”

“I am.”

He thinks about it for a second. No smile, no change in tone, but the word is sweet. “Good.”

“Ready to save the world, then?”

“Yes.”

You’re finally ready. For the biggest challenge you’ve yet to face in your REM-created world. Bigger than the giant whose pinky was the same size as your staff. Bigger than that dragon that could breathe lightning, which shouldn’t be possible, really.

You reach into your boots and pull the treasures from their hiding place.

Twin daggers that match his.

He raises a brow. More than curiosity, it’s intrigue.

“Let me show you how it’s done.”

With that, you sprint forward into the fray, and the monsters fall. You feel the fire, it’s not just between your legs it’s from your tippy toes to the top of your head, and instead of stuffing it down inside you expand your chest and roar.

Suddenly, he’s next to you, and you’re in sync, so much so that you wonder if you’re an extension of him, reaching where his blade can’t but he wants. Probably not, because he looks surprised too, that the spaces his knives leave are being filled by you.

“So?”

This time he doesn’t mull over it; his answer is instant. Just two words. “Not bad.”

You let out a joyous laugh. “Dance with me, angel.”

He says nothing, but the way your daggers spin and your bodies weave, always millimeters apart, it’s not a battlefield at all. It’s a dance floor.

The music? Hard falls of footsteps, heavy breaths after each slash, the shriek of dying beasts as they turn to powder. And your heartbeats in unison.

Fit for a fantasy world, there’s even a clock you’re racing against that will end your bliss.

Before it chimes, though, you’ve already cleared the area of baddies.

“Nice work, homie.” 

He nods, but doesn’t speak. Normally it wouldn’t bother you, but considering you’d been a hair’s width from each other and you’d complimented his movements perfectly, you’d think he’d spare a sentence for you. At least a phrase.

You can’t help yourself. “We make a good team.”

He actually replies. You wish he hadn’t. “I don’t want to be your partner.”

You shouldn’t have to justify yourself, but you feel you owe your stomach, because it just dropped. “I’m just saying we work well together.”

He doesn’t respond. You want to tell him that it hurts when he ignores you, even if it’s not on purpose.

But how can you blame him? He’s just a boy. You should let him be. 

You should focus on what makes actually makes you feel good. Being freaking Wonder Woman.

“I’m not like you.” You don’t recognize the look on his face. It’s probably just another kind of passive.

“I know, kid.”

“I don’t always say things.”

You laugh dryly. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I don’t know how.”

You want to ruffle his hair, but you keep your hands at your sides. “It’s an expression.”

He lapses into silence, and you push away the sadness.

“Shall we keep going then?”

“Alright.” He looks closely at your face. “There’s some blood on your cheek.” He reaches forward, probably instinctively, and you back up quickly. 

“I got it. Thanks homie.”

Then an ambush party pops out at you, and the elation returns. You lose yourself in the arms of victory, letting him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YALL EVER SEND A TEXT SO RISKY YOU START DOING CHORES
> 
> I think next chapters gonna be the last one, so I’m going to de my best to make it incredible!
> 
> Hope y’all had s nice Halloween!!
> 
> My partner got me a sexy romper with a hood n ears so that was nice.
> 
> Til next time lovelies!
> 
> Xoxo Bucky


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ;ALKSJDFAL;SKJDF;LAJKSD;FJA;SLDKJF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the long awaited (maybe only by me) finale to this adventure.
> 
> I'm really happy with how this fic turned out. I hope you all were able to enjoy it too!
> 
> Leave me a comment if you like!
> 
> XOXO Bucky

So you settled into the routine; heaven at night, purgatory during the day.

And really, purgatory isn't so bad. Because of him.

You still don't know his name, but you don't want it.

You just want to feel his mouth on your ear, whispering those dirty things, like he's the serpent and you're Eve. You know it's not healthy, but at least it's not hell. It's as close as you can get to feeling alive when you're awake.

You're not swinging your weapon, threading your body through demons in a deadly dance.

You're pressed up against him, grinding to the beat in the half bar half club. You should be tired of it, but the way he guides your hips sometimes, let's them drift free other times, and once in a while how he holds them firmly so he can get just the right pressure; it's a tease, it's tantalizing and you can't get enough.

Of course there's always inopportune phone calls, early meetings, and interminable interruptions, so by the time sleep calls you're alone in an empty apartment, yearning unresolved between your legs.

And when you see the boy, it travels up to your chest and refuses to fade.

"Hey homie."

He doesn't respond, but you're used to it.

He peers closely at your neck. "You're injured." The worry in his voice brings about that familiar rush of affection that comes more and more often when you're here in dreamland.

You touch the spot he's looking at and wince.

He furrows his brow. You've never retained any injuries from either side when crossing.

"It's nothing."

"Are those bite marks?"

"Uh...yeah."

"What bit you?"

You cough, trying hard not to corrupt the boy. What should you say, hyena? You opt for a shrug and nothing more.

"You don't trust me." There's no hint of reproach, but it might as well be puppy dog eyes for all the guilt it brings you. Fine, guess every kid has to grow up a little.

"It was a man." He draws his knife at your words, but what could he do? He's in your head. Still, you hasten to reassure him.

"It was my friend. It didn't hurt."

"Your...partner?"

"I guess."

"Did you get in a fight? Is that why he bit you?" His naivety is so endearing, you want to hug him. But you give him space, as you've always done. Though it gets harder every time he looks at you with those great, curious eyes.

"He bit me because it feels good." 

You can almost see the wheels turning in his mind, but there's no way this can compute.

"How?"

Can you even explain horniness to a kid? "It just does."

"Why?"

"Because." You're itching to kick some ghost tail. Also, this is getting uncomfortable.

"Because why?"

Welp, time to exit this infinite loop. 

"If you know, you know." Hoping he'll leave it at that, you motion at him to lead the way.

He doesn't move, and tilts his head at you instead.

"Show me."

"What?! No!" Personal feelings aside, you do not want to pollute the boy.

"Show me or I won't take you along."

He's giving you attitude and you don't mind one bit. But you know how he feels about being touched. 

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Fine." You approach him slowly and let your head hover over his neck, waiting to see if he'll change his mind. He doesn't move.

You kiss his neck slowly, enjoying the smell of fresh grass. He stands still like a statue. Until you find a spot that makes him squirm a little. You suck on it softly, enjoying the way his breath catches in his throat. Before you get carried away, you give him a little nip.

He leaps away and stares at you wide-eyed. You feel bad, but in a naughty girl way. In a daddy punish me way. "Sorry if I scandalized you. But you did ask me to."

"I did," he admits. Aside from the initial shock, he has no other reaction.

You should feel insulted; you give a really good hickey. There are plenty of bruises out there proving it.

But you'd rather not scar the kid, even if it's just in your dream. Is he even legal age?

"Hey homie, how old are you?"

"Time passes differently here." That's true, you only have like 3 hours of REM sleep a day anyway. "I'm older than you, though."

There's no way that's true, but you don't want to argue. You just want this moment to be over so you can fight, kill, anything to get rid of the ache in your chest. It's stronger than ever, and it's getting really painful. "I guess you just look young."

"That's why you think I'm a kid."

"That and your amazing innocence."

He frowns slightly. "I'm not innocent."

And he's right in a way; who knows how much blood the two of you have spilled? But it's not real, and it's definitely still not a text about being inside someone.

"Alright then, my fellow convict. Let's rock!"

In the throes of combat, you're so close to euphoria. The mud splashing on your ankles, the wind plastering your bangs to your face, and of course, the demons crumbling at your very feet.

But it's not enough. You want those dagger callouses on your skin, those blonde strands across your palm, your name in that voice of so few words. 

If you can't have any of it, you'll settle for feeling beasts disintegrating between your very fingers.

You push your body to it's limit and race forward, passing him for the first time in your collective lives.

As he catches up to you, you see his flawless movements; each stab precise and fatal. Perfection. 

He's perfect.

You're so enthralled you don't notice you've stuck your fist into a charging bear's mouth.

Unfortunately, the bear notices.

You scream in pain and jam your other fist into its throat; it whimpers weakly but still holds on.

"Be careful!" Your hand is released as the bear's head is simultaneously released from its body. The alarm in his voice is almost as surprising as suddenly wearing a bear skull for a bracelet. Nonetheless, inertia wins and you land on your ass.

He sticks his hand out to help you up, but you do an awesome backflip to land on your feet. You have to make up for the incredibly embarrassing incident earlier.

"Thanks homie." You check your injury; all the bones are still there, even if the skin isn't. Disgusting.

He wipes the sweat out of his eyes and looks closely at your hand. He's used to blood, but the exposed veins and flesh are apparently too much for him. He balks visibly.

"Why didn't you use any weapons?" There's a critical edge to his voice and you don't appreciate it. But it's probably the blood loss. You resist snapping at him.

"I know right, ick?" You cajole, hoping he'll get over himself. Which he doesn't.

He repeats the question. "Why didn't you use any weapons?"

"Don't need them." It's your own mind, for crying out loud. "I'm fine." You wiggle your fingers at him, gritting your teeth so you don't howl or cry. Stupid, stupid idea.

"You should use them." Now his disapproval is evident, and it's pissing you off.

"Why should I? It's just a dream!" It's your own freaking dream and you can't say what you want, do what you want, because you don't want to lose him.

"I see." The detachment is back in his voice, and you hate it. You want to yell, to tell him off. To say, I want to feel something, anything, because I can't feel you.

But you don't. Your parents used to yell at you all the time, and you never understood, you just resented them. You don't want him to.

You don't want the boy to resent you. So you hold back, even if it hurts more than your shredded hand.

"I did say I like being bitten."

He laughs for the first time, and it's a beautiful sound that takes your breath away. So why do your eyes burn?

When the alarm rings today, you're filled with nothing but determination.

Today's the day you're finally going to fuck your boss.

How long has it been since you first took the plunge to flirt with him? How many dark hours fumbling in his office, how many days he was called away at the last minute, how many nights you made it home with panties dripping without finishing?

Today you weren't taking any chances. You're not going to wear any.

"Good morning (y/n)."

"Hi Carol."

You should hate her for always interrupting you for nonexistent callers, but her wife just left her for a bowling instructor so you couldn't help but be nice.

"Word to the wise, the fox is in a foul mood today."

"Thanks for the heads up."

"(Y/n)! My office! Now!"

Well you sure picked the wrong day not to wear underwear.

You walk into his office and his back is to you.

"Hi." A safe choice of words, since you couldn't see his face. Come to think of it, you've never seen him in a bad mood before. He was unbelievably good-natured; but every camel has a straw for its back right? Something like that.

"(Y/n)." Guttural, making your knees weak so easily. When he turns you realize he's not mad as in anger. It's mad as in madness, insane from desire, and you recognize the look. It's the same you've seen in your compact when you're making sure your collar covers up the bruises he made with his talented mouth. It's the same look on your face now, as you meet in the middle of the room, breaths so heavy you wonder if they can hear outside.

You're bent over the edge of the table, you hear his pants unzip and you whine because he's milking the moment, you hear the grin in his voice as he rubs against you like he always does. "Moan for me."

You open your mouth, relieved that it's finally happening, you can finally feel the dopamine flood your brain, finally get the release that you've been longing for-

"Bomb threat!"

You've got to be fucking kidding me. You feel his chuckle between your shoulder blades as you slam your fist on the table. 

But for legal reasons, everyone has to file out, and there's phone calls back and forth and a squad car and hours of nail-biting. Though you're sure you are the only one doing it out of sexual tension.

And of course, by the time the situation is cleared as a false alarm, it's concert night for him. Season tickets were the Worst. Idea. Ever.

"Are you angry?"

You're the one who's silent this time, but you have every right to be.

"You don't want to be here." His surprise is evident, so really it's unprecedented for both of you.

"There's something I've been looking forward to a very long time. Which will happen once I wake up."

"What is it?" Of course he wants to know. He's naturally inquisitive and you love that about him. But the world is too big and cruel for him to understand. You don't want him to.

"Nothing."

"Tell me." So this is how parents feel when it's time for The Talk. You have so much more empathy for them now. 

"You don't need to know."

"I want to." His insistence would be adorable if you weren't so mortified.

"It's not important." 

"It is to me."

"Just let it go."

"Why won't you be real with me?" The words strike you right in the heart. You want to, you've always wanted to, but you can't. 

"Look, kid-"

"I'm not a kid!" His voice is raised; he's upset and you don't know why. He never shows emotion and all of a sudden now he's explosive.

Can't he see you're doing this for his own good?

"Homie. Look. Everything, everyone. We're all sullied.

Except you. You're clean. I won't let myself ruin that.

I've never met anyone more pure in my life."

He stares down at his feet. You want to touch his shoulder, to hold his hand, to hug him tight.

You don't.

When he speaks again, his voice is so low you can barely hear him. 

"Is that why you won't touch me?"

The burning behind your eyes is unbearable.

"You don't like it."

"I lied."

Suddenly, he's pushed you onto the ground, his arm behind your back so you don't hurt yourself. "Hom-" He puts a finger to your lips. "My turn."

He pulls his fingers through your hair gently. "Do you know how hard it is waiting for you every night?"

"W-"

"Shh. I spend all day trying to reach through the barrier. You're so close, but I can't."

"I-"

"Hush. When I took you to the tent, I was trying to show you what my life is like."

"B-"

"Still talking. I see your partner paw at you over and over again, but when you come I have to keep my distance."

"H-"

"Not done. It takes every ounce of energy I have to look neutral, to stay passive, to seem indifferent, so I don't complicate your life outside."

"M-"

"Stop interrupting. You know why I wouldn't let you touch me?

Because I knew if you did, I would never, ever want to let go."

You stare at him, unable to speak. He stares right back at you.

At last, you're able to form words.

"Do you still want to know what I was looking forward to?"

"Yes." One word, but it's more than enough.

"I can show you."

He laughs again, and it's like a symphony playing the score of ecstasy. Pure ecstasy.

"No, (y/n), let me show you how it's done."

And before his lips even make it to yours.

You moan.

When your alarm goes off, you reach over to your phone but it's not there.

It's in the hands of the man of your dreams.

He's made it through the fade.

"How do I change the background in this?"

"...hi."

"Oh, by the way, I'm Cole."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
> 
> I LOVE HIM
> 
> THANK YOU FOR JOINING ME ON THIS ADVENTURE!!!
> 
> GIVE ME SOME LOVE BELOW IF YOU LIKE
> 
> STAY SAFE LOVELIES
> 
> XOXO BUCKY


End file.
